


Like a Prayer

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and mentions of other kinds of debauchery, because it's just like that Madonna music video
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: Starscream has ways of bringing Prime to his knees, even at the most inappropriate times.





	Like a Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday to Finny! <3

He’s survived four million years of war and all the trauma that comes with it. But sitting at an absurdly large table, surrounded by the supposed “greatest minds” of both Cybertron and its sister colonies and listening to the dull prattle of Ultra Magnus’ presentation, Starscream thinks he just might die. 

The rest of the delegates seem to be victims of the tedium as well. Starscream can see Ratchet opposite him, who apparently has yielded to the drowsiness he’d been attempting to stave off for the better half of the last hour. 

Soundwave beside Ratchet appears to be faring much better to the untrained eye, but Starscream knows that beneath his stoicism his symbiotes must be flooding their telepathic link with all manner of unprofessionalism. 

Even Optimus Prime can’t help but fidget at Starscream’s side. He keeps crossing and uncrossing his ankles, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck to work out the sort of kinks that Ultra Magnus can induce with his voice alone. 

Only Megatron manages to be an attentive listener, kiss ass that he is. His optics only leave Ultra Magnus long enough to scribble a note on the datapad he brought - like an absolute tool, Starscream thinks snidely - before he’s enraptured by the lecture once more.

Starscream can’t even remember the topic of whatever it is that Ultra Magnus is proposing for their reconstruction efforts. He can barely remember his own name at this point. 

At one end of the table Rodimus sits with his head cradled in his hands, looking the part of a man utterly defeated. If Starscream had to pick the weakest link in this little ring of misery they’d formed, all bets would be on the young Prime.

Optimus leans back. The chair groans in protest beneath his massive frame, drawing Starscream’s attention.

His expression doesn’t betray the devious plan already formulating in his processor, inspired by nothing more than a shift in Optimus’ weight. Perhaps the legitimate Prime could give Rodimus a run for his money. 

Starscream glances to his right. Breakdown puts on a good front of paying attention, but Starscream can see that he’s engaged in a game of footsie with Knock Out; has been since before Ultra Magnus finished his introduction, and Starscream figures it’s only a matter of time before things escalate. 

The table protects them from any other prying eyes and the judgment of those who weren’t smart enough to bring along an intimate partner for this test of endurance, and it’s all the clearance that Starscream needs. 

Windblade’s optics have glazed over. Rodimus looks ready to swear fealty to a god if only so a merciful creator can strike him down where he stands. 

Optimus doesn’t think much of it when Starscream slides his chair over so that their thighs are touching. It takes the teasing brush of a hand on his leg, one that grows bolder and more insistent as it nears his panel, to get him to snap out of his stupor with a choked sound and open a private comm. link between them.

_“Starscream.”_ He manages to sound sluggish from the boredom and panicked by Starscream’s shameless groping at the same time. _”What are you doing?”_

_“Keeping sane,”_ Starscream replies simply. _”We’re not making it out of here alive unless we do something.”_

His hand stops dangerously close to the apex of Optimus’ thighs, lingering where he can feel a slight warmth begin to radiate from Optimus’ panel but not so crass as to touch it with an air of uncertainty still lingering between them.

_”This isn’t professional.”_ Optimus says, but he allows his legs to fall open, giving Starscream better access to the growing heat between his thighs. _”We should be setting an example.”_

Starscream runs a talon along the seam of Optimus’ panel. He teases at the sensors and protomesh, and the way Optimus shivers beneath his touch is a power trip in itself. 

_“We gave up on professionalism last Sunday,”_ Starscream says. His voice lowers to a sensual purr at the memory. _“Remember? At the monastery?”_

Optimus clears his intake. No one is cognizant enough at this point to notice his slip in composure, but Starscream delights at the way his fists clench and unclench. Clearly that tryst wasn’t lost on him. 

_”You’re a menace,”_ Optimus says, but there’s a fondness to the remark despite the disapproving look that accompanies it and the tension that’s evident in his frame - one that Starscream is more than happy to alleviate, given permission. _”Megatron will never let us hear the end of the this.”_

_”Like he’s a paragon of chastity,”_ Starscream sneers, but he figures divulging the details of Megatron’s own sexual exploits can wait for another time. _”Come on, Optimus. You can’t tell me that you don’t have a bit of exhibitionist in you.”_

_”I can’t say I’ve ever considered it.”_ There’s a pause before Optimus’ reply that has Starscream doubting its authenticity, something that he’s more than happy to exploit. 

Optimus’ hand practically engulfs Starscream’s - a fact which never fails to thrill Starscream, as he considers the ways in which Optimus’ size could so easily lend itself to the rougher treatment he desires - and Optimus guides it to his panel. 

Words never come easily for Optimus when it comes to sex. Starscream has learned over the course of whatever this is that they share to rely on the language of his touch, his frame. 

Starscream wastes no time before taking full advantage of the invitation. He rubs his palm against the smooth metal with a fervor that betrays his eagerness to coerce it open, applying a pressure that reaches Optimus’ spike housing beneath it.

_”Gentle,”_ Optimus says as he releases his panel. His hands manage to relax at least as he allows his spike to extend into Starscream’s waiting grip, though his rigid posture still presents a challenge that Starscream is pleased to accept. _”We don’t want to make a scene.”_

_”Because we have such a captive audience,”_ Starscream drawls. A glance around the room gives him seasoned war veterans that are all questioning the cost of survival. _”Besides, what would they even do about it? You’re a Prime. Your merry little band of Autobots worships the ground you walk on. The Decepticons have all seen worse.”_

_”That doesn’t give me much confidence,”_ Optimus says. His brow furrows, making him the picture of a man besieged by trouble and not the blissful recipient of a handjob. 

Another challenge that Starscream accepts. 

_”Just let me take care of you,”_ he says, his voice gentling in a way that only Optimus has had the privilege of knowing; and even then only during moments of intimacy, where prying eyes can’t see them stripped of their sanctity or the mechanisms they use to cope with a world that has shown them cruelty. _”You’re too stressed out from all these meetings and negotiations. An overload will do you some good.”_

Starscream’s expression remains unchanged, revealing nothing to any onlooker who possesses the mental fortitude to have not checked out completely by this point. But his own charge begins to coalesce in his array at the feeling of Optimus’ stiffening spike in his hand, and he crosses his legs to provide a frustratingly small amount of relief. 

He’s never been one to worship a Prime, but there are times where Optimus’ spike makes him reconsider. As he runs his hand along the ridges he recalls the weight of it in his mouth, on his tongue, the taste of Optimus’ release and the satisfaction of knowing that he was the one who brought a near-deity to such a place of rapture. 

His mouth feels woefully empty. Another time. 

Optimus grips the edge of the table, but his shoulders gradually lower along with the tension they’ve been carrying in what Starscream considers to be a small victory. 

_”I’ll have to return to the favor,”_ Optimus says, because of course he’s concerned with reciprocity before he’s even had a chance to overload. His generosity is as infuriating as it is endearing, and Starscream lets him know by teasing the sensors around the base of his spike with the tip of a talon. 

The threat is an empty one, Optimus should know, but it has his grip tightening nonetheless. 

Starscream watches Drift lose faith in his god in realtime. _”You can make it up to me by fucking me through the table afterwards,”_ he says, and his stoicism falters just long enough to smirk in the direction of the troubled Spectralist. 

Drift opens his mouth to say something - a curse, maybe a complete renunciation of his faith - but the presence of the ever-diligent Megatron right beside him keeps him quiet. 

_“Language,”_ Optimus admonishes, but Starscream doesn’t miss the way his spike throbs in his grip at the thought of what Starscream had proposed. 

_”You’re really going to lecture me while I have your cock in my hand?”_ Starscream says. 

_”Starscream!”_

Optimus sounds panicked, but Starscream isn’t swayed. He knows the effect that such vulgarities have on a Prime who had once resigned himself to the fate of being a pillar of virtue; one by which all others could look to absolve them of their own sins. 

And Starscream’s suspicions are only confirmed when the table creaks from the intensity of Optimus’ grip, and his spike pulses with that same want. 

_”What happened to not making a scene?”_ Starscream asks when he catches Megatron’s eye for a brief moment. 

Megatron’s hawkish gaze has always had a way of making Starscream feel transparent, even when he prides himself on his duplicitous nature and the sense of safety that it affords him. To not be known is perhaps the greatest form of self-preservation, but in that moment he feels as exposed as he was in those days where he was foolish enough to revere a gladiator from Tarn. 

But Starscream is nothing if not bold. He doesn’t allow his eye contact to waver, daring Megatron to investigate what exactly has Optimus so on edge. 

The Autobots have softened him. Megatron snorts disapprovingly before focusing his attention back on Ultra Magnus, who seems completely oblivious to his audience’s complete lack of enthusiasm. That or he’s simply a sadist who doesn’t care. 

Starscream increases his pace. His free hand wanders towards his own panel, but he refrains from doing anything to satisfying his own growing arousal. There’s a sense of power to making Optimus go strutless beneath his touch, all without betraying his own fallibility. 

There’s something pleading in Optimus’ expression as he says, _”I can’t. Not here.”_

His hips give a slight jerk. It’s obvious he’d love nothing more than to thrust into Starscream’s grip, to chase after the overload that millennia of conditioning tells him to deny himself. 

Starscream’s hand stills, but not before giving the base of Optimus’ spike a final squeeze. _”Fine. Hold out a little longer, then.”_

“Any questions?” 

A sudden moment of clarity breaks through the monotonous drone of Ultra Magnus’ speech. He’s standing at the front of the room, the projection on the screen behind him showing the concluding points of his presentation. 

Megatron raises his hand, but in a split second Rodimus has risen from the dead and stood with a triumphant proclamation of, “Nope! We’re good. We’re done. All in a day’s work, and all that. Great job team. See you tomorrow.” 

What follows is a mass exodus. Starscream and Optimus remain seated in the midst of the mad scramble to the exit, as if everyone fears they’ll be subjected to an encore performance if they linger too long. 

Megatron, naturally, is the last leave, and he shoots Starscream one last look of disapproval before escorting Ultra Magnus out of the meeting hall. 

Optimus doesn’t move at first. Starscream wonders if he’s broken him, and is about to insinuate as such before he suddenly finds himself pinned against the table, at the mercy of a sexually frustrated Optimus and anyone who naively comes back and witnesses something entirely unholy. 

“Please,” Optimus says, because even in his arousal he still insists on being a gentleman. His fingers caress Starscream’s panel, begging for the release that Starscream had so shamelessly tantalized him with. 

Starscream figures he’s been teased enough. In an uncharacteristic act of mercy he opens his panel and dares Optimus to make good on all those unspoken promises he’d made with every twitch of his hips and sharp intake of breath. 

_Even better than the monastery,_ Starscream thinks as Optimus fills him and makes him reconsider his lack of piety in ways scripture and prayer never could. 


End file.
